


The oath of the inseparableness of two together

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It feels like the universe has given her a reprieve – it isn’t the end after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The oath of the inseparableness of two together

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching last year’s Christmas special a week or two ago and a certain quote inspired me. Story title from the Walt Whitman poem From pent up aching rivers.

_Because what’s the point in them being happy now if they’re going to be sad later?_

 

Once she is released from Stormcage and receives her professorship at Luna University, she is afraid that it’s the end of them – he’d been so young the last time she’d seen him. Her mother hadn’t even known who she was. She is certain that the only thing left is his first meeting with her and her last with him. Instead, the next time she sees him is in Manhattan, and he’s her Doctor, her husband. It feels like the universe has given her a reprieve – it isn’t the end after all.

 

And after Manhattan, she starts seeing more of the Doctor than ever before. At first, he doesn’t do much more than hang about her cottage and pester the life out of her as she grades papers and composes lectures – all the while muttering over her shoulder _wrong_ , _utter_ _rubbish_ , _very_ _wrong_ , and _River why couldn’t you have a cool job_? She bites her tongue at every mumbled remark and turns her head, stopping his lips with a kiss. She can’t bring herself to get angry the way she used to when she was younger – she is just grateful he’s here to make derogatory comments at all.

 

Eventually, as she had known he would, he gets bored of watching her red pen scribble over papers and of organizing her gun collection by size and knives by level of pointiness. Except he doesn’t swan off back to the TARDIS with a kiss and a wave like she expects him to – not this time. When he gets bored, he simply decides she must go with him, and he won’t take no for an answer. A little too attached to having him around now and more than a little afraid that if he leaves, she’ll never see this version of him again – the version that _knows_ her – River lets him spirit her away.

 

It’s unlike any other adventure she has ever had with the Doctor. For one, after all the complaining he does about her career choice, he actually takes her to a dig site where she has been itching to get her hands in the dirt for ages, which is entirely unlike him. He hates her expeditions but this time, he sits on his knees in the dirt next to her and watches her work like he has never seen anything quite so fascinating. The Doctor has always been a good husband but he has begun to take attentive to a new level entirely. River suspects this new clinginess he has developed has something to do with her parents. Maybe what happened in New York made him realize just how important it is to savor every single moment – even Time Lords don’t have forever. 

 

When he drops her off in front of her cottage after days of excavating under the merciless sun, he presses his mouth to hers and neither of them cares at all that they’re both still sweaty and caked with dirt. “I’ll be back soon,” he promises when she grips his collar tightly. “You haven’t seen the last of me, River Song.”

 

The words bring unexpected tears to her eyes and she drags him down to her for another kiss, clinging to him and those whispered words with all her might. She finally lets him leave after he showers with her, and still wrapped in a towel and her hair dripping down her back, River watches from the window as his TARDIS fades away.

 

-

 

The Doctor keeps his promise far sooner than she expected him to, showing up in the middle of her living room the next week. Curled up on the sofa with a recently borrowed – it doesn’t count as stealing if she plans on returning it at some point – Shakespearean manuscript, River pauses in the middle of tutting over the man’s awful penmanship and looks up, waiting to see which version of her husband pops out this time.

 

When the door to the TARDIS creaks open, he peeks out at her with a grin and asks, “Doctor Song?”

 

She shakes her head. “Professor.”

 

He claps his hands once in glee and leaps from his ship. “Ha! Knew it.” He snatches her hand and hoists her to her feet, barely managing to keep from ripping Shakespeare’s manuscript in half and giving River the fright of her life in the process – she would never forgive herself for causing the destruction of the only living copy of Macbeth. “Well come along, Song! Things to do, planets to save, chips to eat!”

 

Stowing the ancient but still new manuscript on her coffee table for safekeeping, River allows herself to be dragged into the TARDIS and grins at the welcoming hum of the ship. “Where are we going?”

 

The Doctor whirls around the console, dragging her with him and saying nothing when she corrects him – either River has gotten better at hiding her adjustments from him or he has finally realized complaining does not deter her. “Somewhere amazing.”

 

He takes her _everywhere_ amazing.

 

He takes her to ancient Egypt and they sip champagne amidst the pyramids, their hands wrapped around a bowtie for old time’s sake. He takes her to Arcateen V to see the Butterfly people and Kataa Floko to see the diamond coral reefs. He takes her to the Eye of Orion and barely takes his eyes off of her while she gazes around in wonder. They have a picnic on Chimeria and run from Mire-beasts on Aridius. The Doctor manages to find a moon made entirely out of wood and River laughs until she cries as he sits cross-legged on its surface and glares at his sonic.

 

He takes her to see the Rolling Stones in concert and when she asks him to take off his pants so she can throw them onstage at Mick Jagger, he takes her to Barcelona instead, still blushing as he pets a purple-spotted dog without a nose. She refuses to let him bring it with him, despite his attempts to lead it along with a trail of fish fingers and claim that it followed him home.

 

They save ancient civilizations and future civilizations and everything in between, blood racing hotly through their veins as they stumble through the doors of the TARDIS and pull at hair and clothes, their kisses all teeth and tongue as they take pleasure in just being _alive_.

 

With every visit, he takes her somewhere even more spectacular, almost as if he is trying to outdo _himself_. And at the end of each night, he leaves her breathless and grinning on her front porch, his kiss still lingering on her lips and his promise in her ear. _You haven’t seen the last of me, River Song_.

 

-

 

“- I mean, technically it’s just a phenomenon caused by the collision of charged particles with atoms in high altitude -”

 

“Kind of ruining it, sweetie.”

 

He pauses, contemplative. “It really is gorgeous though, isn’t it?”

 

Smiling up at the sky, River sighs wistfully and marvels at how her husband can still appreciate something as simple as this when he has seen wonders so far beyond anything this planet and most of its inhabitants has ever witnessed. It’s one of the many things she loves about him – his unfailing wonder at everything.

 

“Course, it’s not nearly as pretty as my wife.”

 

She doesn’t look at him but her smile widens.

 

“But it’s a very close second, don’t you think?”

 

“I think you need your eyes checked, old man,” she mutters, and he laughs.

 

“D’you know, River, every planet I’ve ever visited and there is always something remarkable to see, but _this_ planet is the only one with so much that I still haven’t seen it all.” He waves his hand in front of them, distracting her briefly from the view as she follows the erratic movement of those long fingers. “It’s why I keep coming back. Well, besides the people, of course.”

 

Sprawled on her back and shivering even through layers and layers of clothing, River glances to her right and gazes at her husband’s profile in disbelief. “You aren’t actually trying to tell me you’ve never seen the Aurora Borealis before, are you?”

 

The sky above them shimmers and coalesces, purples and blues, oranges and reds, greens and yellows. The Doctor blinks and grins at a particularly bright shade of pink, shaking his head. “Nope. Never.”

 

“You? The man who laughed at me on our honeymoon because I’d never seen a lift in a tree before? _You’ve_ never seen the northern lights?” She narrows her eyes at him, refusing to relent just because the lights are dancing across his face and somehow making him look impossibly younger, like a little boy observing his first display of fireworks.

 

His hand inches across the snow and curls around her own, his fingers cold and trembling. “There’s a first time for everything.”

 

“Well why now?”

 

“I was saving it for a special occasion.”

 

Exasperated with his cryptic responses, she sighs. “What’s so special about now?”

 

He turns his head from the wonder above their heads and bestows her with a smile that stretches all the way up to his old eyes. “You.”

 

-

 

Carpeted by sweet-smelling flowers and sand as soft as feathers, Florana might have been a more popular tourist destination if the sea hadn’t been composed of effervescent warm milk. Swimming in milk tends to put most people off but River and the Doctor are a special case. They find a deserted spot miles away from everyone else and River doesn’t even have to talk the Doctor into undressing – he’s too busy undressing _her_ to protest his own lack of clothes.

 

Holding hands, they plunge into the sea with squeals of laughter and the bubbles bring them back to the surface quickly, keeping them afloat. River gasps and wipes milk from her eyelashes while the Doctor sputters and coughs in between wishing aloud that he’d thought to bring a box of cereal from the TARDIS kitchen.

 

River refrains from telling him cheerios in warm milk would probably be absolutely disgusting – she doubts it would deter him anyway – and says instead, “What about tea, my love?”

 

“Tea?” His eyes widen with delight and he floats to her, grabbing her around the waist and hauling her against him. “Tea! Oh, it’ll be like the Boston Tea Party except yummier and without the angry colonists. I knew I married you for a reason – absolutely brilliant, you are.”

 

He kisses her before she can take offense, threading his fingers through her milk-soaked hair and twining his tongue with hers until she forgets all about milk and tea and cheerios. They spend a week on Florana, and in between trying to create an entire ocean of tea – _just_ think _River, you could dip crumpets in the_ sea _!_ – the Doctor bides his time lacing tiny flowers through River’s curls and spreading her out on a blanket on the sand, making love to her with his hands and his mouth and his words.

 

When they finally leave, River expects him to take her home until next time, like he always does, but when they step out of the TARDIS onto another beach, she turns to him with a frown. “What are we doing here, my love? We just left a beach.” She smirks. “Running out of ideas?”

 

He gasps as if she just told him she cheated on him with an Ood, utterly appalled, and she hides a smile in pursed lips, turning to look out over this new beach with three setting suns.

 

“Alright, tell me.”

 

Next to her, he sniffs and says stiffly, “I don’t think I want to anymore.”

 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she huffs, turning and taking his face in her hands. “We both know you are absurdly clever so stop pouting or I’ll never snog you again.”

 

“Rule one,” he smirks, and waits just long enough for her to lean up on her tiptoes and prove him right. “Now, think of a song, Song.”

 

River rolls her eyes but does as he asks, thinking of skating under London Bridge and catching snowflakes on her tongue, the Doctor’s cold nose against her own. When the fish swimming along the shore begin to sing her favorite Stevie Wonder ballad, the Doctor tugs proudly on his coat lapels and River laughs.

 

-

 

He picks her up the next week when she is on her way to class and she almost makes him come back later but knowing him and his timing, she might not see this him again for another ten months so she stows her briefcase stuffed with terrible essays on a little end table in her living room and follows him into the TARDIS, a skip in her step.

 

For a long time, she thought that once she started encountering a younger Doctor, she would never see her Doctor again but now she wonders if maybe meeting him for the first time from his perspective might mean the beginning of a linear life with her husband. He certainly seems to be suggesting it with all the popping in and out as he pleases and always perfectly aligned with her diary – she doesn’t even bother to check it when he visits anymore.

 

Part of her wonders if he might be doing all these visits right in a row but as he dances around the console and gestures as animatedly as he speaks, she finds that she doesn’t really care as long as he’s _here_. “So,” she trails her hand lovingly over the console and smiles. “Where to today?”

 

When he throws open the doors of the TARDIS and holds out his arms with glee, River peers around him at the deserted field. It isn’t raining but there is a rather spectacular lightning storm occurring, the skies purple and lit up against the backdrop of a barren, dry meadow. “Are you lost, sweetie?”

 

The Doctor drops his arms and turns to her with a huff. “Lost?! I don’t get lost, River Song.”

 

“So that traipse through the sewers of Clom two years ago was planned, was it?”

 

“Oh… shut up.”

 

She grins up at him and he bops her on the nose. “Why are we here, my love?”

 

Enthusiasm regained, the Doctor grabs her hand and pulls her with him into the middle of the field. The air is humid and River can feel sweat on the back of her neck already as she tilts her head up to the sky. If it were raining, this would remind her of Stormcage. “Cotter Palluni’s World,” the Doctor says with relish. “The planet of electric skies.”

 

“Alright,” she says slowly, glancing around as lightning flashes and nearly blinds her. “But why?”

 

The Doctor tut-tuts disapprovingly and draws her into him, snaking a slender arm around her waist. “After all this time and you still don’t know?” He grins and twirls her around with him. “The answer, wife of mine, is why _not_?”

 

He looks down at her with eyes so full of love and the giddiness of a new planet that suddenly the humidity is a minor annoyance. What truly matters is that she has a husband who remembers he’s her husband, who still wants to take her out on dates and looks at her just like he did the day she met him.

 

And the lightning really is quite beautiful.

 

River wraps her arms around his neck and the Doctor waltzes her around a barren meadow under a crackling sky.

 

-

 

It’s an unusually bright summer day in 1865 and she shields herself from the sun with a deceptively dainty parasol – she knows roughly 36 ways to kill a man with the thing but the Doctor doesn’t need to know that. Arm in arm with her husband as they stroll together through Hyde Park, she keeps an eye out for anything potentially dangerous or interesting. It’s been a strangely pleasant afternoon, with nary an alien invasion in sight. The only thing that is in sight is a row of brightly colored kites above the line of trees in the distance, where children are in silent contests to get their kite higher and farther than anyone else. It’s just so _peaceful_.

 

It’s beginning to unsettle her.

 

“Are you sure everything is alright?”

 

The Doctor beams at a child who passes by with a lolly in hand and pointedly does not mention that she has asked this question five times in the span of an hour. “Quite sure, dear.”

 

“But what about -”

 

“No.”

 

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

 

“I do too and the answer is still no.” He tips his hat to a passing couple and River sighs.

 

“Well what are we doing here then?”

 

Glancing at her, the Doctor watches her with soft eyes and says, “Well I don’t know what you’re doing here, River Song, but I’m spending a nice, quiet afternoon with my wife.”

 

She frowns. “That would be very sweet, my love, but you don’t _do_ nice, quiet afternoons.”

 

“I do now,” he says obstinately, and suddenly looks centuries older than he had only a moment ago. “Time is so short, River.”

 

There is a short pause in which they are both thinking of her parents and neither wants to admit it.

 

The Doctor clears his throat, eyes still far away. “I love the running. The running is brilliant, but it’s not – it’s not all I want to remember. Do you understand?”

 

Biting her lip, she nods and adjusts her parasol to shield them both, resting her head briefly on his shoulder and feeling his arm tighten around her in response. “I understand, sweetie.”

 

“Good.” He turns and presses his lips to her hairline, sounding like himself again. “Now, wife, what do you say we go fly a kite?”

 

They look at each other, grinning, and break into a sprint for the line of trees in the distance. Like everything else, it turns into a competition between them and with the Doctor’s long legs; River only manages to win by tripping him with her parasol. The Doctor is a terribly sore loser but kissing him until he stops pouting is hardly a chore.

 

She could really learn to like these quiet afternoons.

 

-

 

He actually lands the TARDIS with the brakes off for once and at her impressed look, he smirks and grabs her hand. “Well come on, one of the world’s greatest poets is out there and we can’t keep him waiting!”

 

River just manages to keep up with him as he drags her excitedly toward the door on long, gangly legs. “Which one?”

 

“Oh, you know,” he waves his hand about as if the gesture explains everything. “The good-looking one that broods.”

 

“Oh, of course, the poet that broods,” she says dryly. “Now I remember.”

 

“Hush, you,” he says, throwing her a fond look as he laces their fingers together and leads her outside. “Do you think he’ll write a poem about me?”

 

River pats his arm and tries not to look too patronizing. “Who _wouldn’t_ want a write a poem about you, my love?”

 

Five minutes later sees him storming back into the control room, dragging a giggling River behind him.

 

“Sweetie, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

 

“Overreacting?” He squeaks in an alarmingly high-pitched voice and turns to gape at her. “I thought he would write me a sonnet, not try to bed my wife!” He glares when she purses her lips against another giggle and she attempts not to look terribly pleased with herself. Growling, he turns from her and yanks irritably at the TARDIS controls as he flies them away. “Lord Byron.” He spits the name out as if it’s wine when he’d been expecting apple juice. “I forgot how much of a – a -”

 

She raises an eyebrow and supplies helpfully, “How much of a manwhore he is?”

 

“River!” He looks as if he might wag a scolding finger at her, then stops and thinks better of it. “Yes, actually.”

 

Wisely saying nothing, she takes his hand and kisses his fingers until his teeth stop grinding together. Using that same hand, he cups her cheek and searches her face intently, as if he wants to memorize her smile before it fades. She feels oddly relieved when he brightens suddenly and whirls from her.

 

“Poets are rubbish anyway,” he mutters, typing in new coordinates rapidly. “ _Painters_ are brilliant.”

 

He takes her to see Leonardo da Vinci and while he means to stay and chat with him, River is the one who spends hours with the painter while the Doctor follows around members of the clergy and tries to convince them that the portrait of the Last Supper “Leo” has been commissioned to paint will be much more accurate if he includes a man in a bowtie between Jesus and Judas.

 

Apparently, he’d been the one to spill the salt – reaching for the custard, he says.

 

When they’re chased out of town for blasphemy and catching their breath inside the TARDIS once more, River presents him with a gift. “We got bored waiting for you to come back.” She smiles. “Thought you might like this – to remind you of me when I can’t be here.”

 

It’s a painting of her, in the typical style of a da Vinci portrait – done in tempera, all smoky, blended colors and gorgeous use of light. It’s a pretty good likeness if she says so herself. The Doctor stares at it in the same way she never realized he looks at her until now – like it is the most precious thing he has ever seen.

 

“It’s -” He stops, swallowing, as River holds it up, biting her lip. For a moment, he can say nothing else and he gathers her into his arms, the painting between them as he holds her tightly and buries his face in her hair. “It’s much better than a sonnet.”

 

-

 

He materializes in her bedroom at three in the morning and River, who has had a long day of lecturing to freshmen, is not pleased. When he pokes his head out of the doors and finds her curled up in bed, sleepy-eyed and irritable, his face softens and he tiptoes out like she’s still sleeping.

 

“What are you doing?”

 

“Shh,” he whispers, sliding his arms beneath her and scooping her up, blanket, pillow and all. “I’m taking care of you.”

 

Laughing reluctantly into his neck, she says, “You’re going to drop me, idiot.”

 

“I would never drop you.” He sounds positively offended, maneuvering her into the TARDIS, who dims the lights instantly in deference to River’s sensitive eyes. “You are far too valuable. And you would hit me.”

 

“I definitely would,” she mumbles tiredly, and sighs in relief when he deposits her gently on the jump seat. “Where to tonight, sweetie?”

 

Staring down at her with an unreadable expression on his face and his hands in his pockets, the Doctor shakes his head and sighs. “Nowhere.”

 

River blinks tiredly. “Is that a planet?”

 

He snorts and drops to his knees in front of her, his fingers tangling instantly in her hair. “It’s not a planet, honey. Sleep.”

 

She watches as he tugs her blanket snugly around her and adjusts her pillow to make sure she’s comfortable, wondering who on earth this man is and where her Doctor has gotten to. Her Doctor would be jumping about and telling her sleep was for the weak and _honestly River, you’re part Time Lord – have some dignity!_ Instead, he sits there on the floor in front of her and watches her eyes drift slowly shut like there is absolutely no where else in the universe that could hold his interest but right here.

 

He’s different, she thinks. More mellow in his old age – though she’d never tell him that, the vain idiot. He doesn’t protest about her guns or her love of explosions nearly as much as he used to and he even seems to enjoy her innuendo-laden whispers in his ear in public. Sometimes he even participates, right in the middle of a sacred Mayan ceremony or in the midst of a lovely afternoon teatime with Jane Austen.

 

He draws her close as often as he can; his hands are always reaching for her, a tender word or a kiss always waiting on his lips. It’s like the best honeymoon they’ve ever had but it’s been happening for months.

 

His long fingers stroke her curls from her eyes and as River finally drifts back to sleep with the soothing hum of the Old Girl thrumming beneath her veins, she feels the Doctor press his lips to her cheek. “Sweet dreams, my River.”

 

-

 

When she steps out of the TARDIS and onto a tree branch, her breath catches. Behind her, the Doctor slips his arm around her waist and rests his chin on her shoulder. “It’s -”

 

He presses a soft kiss to the side of her neck.

 

Calderon Beta.

 

Tears welling in her eyes, River leans back against her husband and welcomes the flood of wonderful memories. “More stars in one sky -”

 

“Than at any moment in history,” he finishes quietly. “You never did read that book.”

 

She turns in his arms, beaming. “I found much better things to do by starlight.”

 

“Well,” he grins, remembering. “Yeah.”

 

Avoiding their younger selves isn’t easy but they acquire a bag of chips and take the lift all the way back to the top on the other side of the tree. They sit huddled together under the stars and feed each other chips, their kisses tasting oddly of vinegar. Every now and then, over the sound of the waves beneath them, they can hear the laughter of a much younger River or the younger Doctor trying to impress his new wife with long-winded explanations.

 

“The whole time you were talking,” River says contemplatively, leaning against his shoulder, “I was thinking of how much I’d like that bowtie between my teeth.”

 

The Doctor chokes on a chip and flushes. “ _River_.”

 

She smiles serenely.

 

Snatching the bag of chips from her, he mumbles, “As I recall, you certainly succeeded.”

 

“And you liked it.”

 

“Never said I didn’t.” He winks at her but within moments, he is staring morosely into the half-empty bag of chips, his brow furrowed. By now, River knows better than to push him. He’ll tell her when he’s ready – and he always tells her. Eventually.

 

Gazing out at the stars and drinking in the sight of a night she never thought she’d get to witness again, she gives her husband time to gather his thoughts, reminiscing and appreciating how unbelievably romantic he can be when he really tries. The man is a total sap sometimes, and _god_ , she loves him for it.

 

“Do you ever regret it, River?” He finally asks, and she feels tension slip from her frame she hadn’t even known was there. “Marrying me?”

 

She glances at him sharply, eyes wide. “Why in the universe would you ask me such a silly question, sweetie?”

 

“Because you should.”

 

“I don’t.”

 

“I ruined your life, River. I -”

 

“You made it better,” she snaps, never able to stomach his guilt over her.

 

The Doctor glances away, jaw tight. “I haven’t been the husband I should have been over the years. I’ve let you down so many times -”

 

 _Yes_ , she wants to say. _Just as I have let you down. But never on purpose, never because we wanted to hurt each other_. They are just two lost souls with no idea how to be married, how to be unselfish and sensitive to someone else’s needs. But they know how to forgive each other and that has always been more than enough. By the Doctor’s hunched shoulders and tense frame, she has a feeling such an honest answer is not what he needs right now, so she answers instead, in a quiet, solemn voice tight with tears, “There is not one moment of our lives together that I would give up, Doctor. Not _one_.”

 

“Not even the bad bits?” He fiddles with the watch on his wrist anxiously, refusing to meet her eyes, and she watches as the guilt plays out across his features like a picture show. “The bits where I don’t know who you are to me or you haven’t seen me in months?”

 

“No,” she answers instantly and reaches for his hand, covering it with her own. “Because those bad moments make moments like this one – when you’re my Doctor – all the more special. I need those moments. They’re worth the pain because they remind me how lucky I am to have this. Us.”

 

He glances up at her then, big hazel eyes welling with tears, and her chest tightens at the sight of it. “I love you, you know. I don’t say it often but I do. More than anything or -”

 

“I know,” she says, and guides his face gently to hers. “And I love you, you nostalgic idiot.”

 

-

 

Every night they’ve spent together since after Manhattan has been more memorable than the last but River thinks tonight might be the best one yet. She dons his favorite dress and after a brief run-in with a younger version of him – she is _still_ thinking of all the possibilities – the Doctor sweeps her out of the TARDIS and onto a hillside overlooking –

 

She gasps, bringing a hand to her mouth. The Singing Towers are even more breathtaking than she’d ever imagined and for once she is speechless, suddenly so thankful the Doctor had made her wait to visit them, refusing to take her no matter how prettily she begged. She’s glad of her patience and his stubbornness because now she’s here with him, her Doctor, who is living as linear a life with her as they’ve ever had together. It feels right – like a new beginning. Perhaps this is what he’d been waiting for all along.

 

Standing behind her, his hand wrapped tightly around hers, the Doctor says nothing, not even trying to explain why the Towers sing or that they aren’t actually singing at all but merely producing vibrations caused by the wind or something equally unromantic. In fact, he hasn’t spoken much at all tonight, not since she mentioned the Library. He’d bowed his head for a long moment and didn’t speak, but when he’d looked up again, he’d beamed at her and said, “Get dressed, Professor. I’m taking you somewhere amazing.”

 

River had looked at him dubiously. “You always take me somewhere amazing.”

 

His smile had wobbled briefly. “Yes, but this will be even more amazinger.”

 

She’d snorted at his terrible vocabulary and by the time she returned to the control room in a shimmering green dress, he’d been himself again. Now, she turns to him with a delighted smile and throws her arms around him. “Oh, my love. You were right.”

 

“Amazinger?” He asks, gripping her to him suddenly like a lifeline.

 

“Definitely.” She laughs and pulls back as the Towers begin to sing, and this time it’s her tugging _him_ along as she tries to get as close as she can to hear the beautiful, sorrowful melody.

 

He holds her close all night, more affectionate and tender than ever and as the final note rings out around them, she feels hot tears against her bare arm. Startled, she glances at her husband and finds him pressing his face into her skin, his expression desolate. Her hearts ache at the sight and she reaches for him, bringing his face gently up to hers. “Doctor, what is it?”

 

She thought that he’d been doing better since Manhattan, but maybe he has just been hiding it well, taking her to all these places in an effort to distract himself from his loss. Oh, her poor love. Once she returns from her expedition, she’s going to make him stop all this running and take care of himself. And if he refuses, she’ll just have to do it for him. She can’t bear to see him like this.

 

He shakes his head, offering her a trembling smile through his tears just before he closes the distance between them and kisses her so fiercely she melts right into his embrace. He smells of rain and tweed, and tastes of stardust and Jammie Dodgers – so very him. It has been the taste and smell of home for as long as she can remember and for some reason, she finds herself clinging to it now, breathing him in greedily and savoring the taste of him on her tongue like it’s the last time she’ll ever be able to.

 

He unzips her dress and slips it from her shoulders, pressing her naked skin into the grass, his hands gentle but grasping as he makes love to her with an urgency she has never seen from him before. His hands shake and his kisses bruise but River wraps herself around him and takes it all, starving for his touch. As she comes apart around him with a quiet, trembling cry of ecstasy, the Doctor whispers into her hair and through the aftershocks of pleasure, River is vaguely troubled. He so often breathes verses of a poem as he explores her skin or lines from a novel as her nails rake down his back – her Doctor cannot keep quiet even when his brain is short-circuiting from her touch and the soft whisper of a sonnet against her skin is more romantic than any dirty talk from past lovers. It’s sweet and tender and he always says things that remind him of her, quoting Shakespeare and Whitman, Browning and Cummings – but never Byron, not anymore. No, the whisper itself doesn’t bother her. But the words do.

 

_I wish I had done everything on earth with you._

 

It sounds far too much like a goodbye, but River pushes the terrifying thought from her mind and tries to ignore the taste of regret on his lips as he gasps in the circle of her arms. When his eyes finally open, he smiles at her and her worries slip away, trickling through her fingers like water.

 

They lie together in the grass for a long time, fingers linked together as they murmur sweetly to each other in the shadow of the Towers. She doesn’t remember she should be worried until much later, when he kisses her softly on her front porch and traces his thumb over her cheek, his eyes wide and stricken. “Goodbye, my River.”

 

Tilting her head, she smiles. “Until next time, sweetie.”

 

He walks slowly to the TARDIS, and with one last lingering glance back at her, he disappears inside.

 

River frowns, clutching her new sonic screwdriver as her hearts begin to pound. Every night, he says the same thing. _You haven’t seen the last of me, River Song._ As the sound of his ship fades away and she is left standing alone and staring at her empty garden, she realizes with a sudden sharp pain in her chest that this time, he hadn’t promised her anything.

 

_The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later._


End file.
